A/N: I own absolutely nothing but a couple of OC's. Criminal Minds is not mine, as sad as that makes me.

This is a sequel to the story I just completed, "Flynn". You will be a bit lost if you don't read that one first! I'm continuing with the Molly Prentiss (Emily's sister-in-law) storyline. I hope you guys enjoy it! I love writing this.

To clear up some concerned (and vaguely threatening) messages I've received in my inbox: I am not planning on pairing Molly up with anyone on the team. She is not there for romance. It would be a really odd factor to add to her character, so I most certainly do not plan on sinking anyone's established "ships". That being said, this is a young story so things often change with requests and prompts. If I plan on veering off in a particular ROMANTIC direction, I promise to give fair warning.

Hotch and Prentiss are obviously Canon in this story, because...seriously they're perfect.

WARNING: THIS STORY WILL CONTAIN SOME GRAPHIC THEMES. Nothing horrible, but a little gory.

/

Lake Elsinore, California

Though she had traveled through warm territories throughout her childhood, she never really cared for the heat. She didn't like to sweat and her hair would only behave if pulled into a ponytail. Humidity was at eighty-five percent to top it off, so breathing would be out of the question.

Wasn't it supposed to cold in February?

She turned on the engine for a moment, relishing to semi-cool air that blasted against her damp face for a few moments before shutting it off again.

It would be getting dark soon. The sky was beginning to turn a salmon color with streaks of yellow and pink. The heat didn't subside unfortunately, but at least the sun wasn't directly overhead anymore.

Just as she was going to start the car again, a black sedan sped around the corner into the parking lot of the laundry mat she had been scouting for six hours.

"About damn time." She groaned as she climbed out of her Wagoneer, her legs were tingling from disuse and the muscles in her back were twitching. After a cursory look at her surroundings, she pulled her knife out and greeted the gentleman just as the driver's side door opened. "Good evening Hamilton."

He was a thin man with a blonde bowl cut that even a five year wouldn't look good with. He swallowed when he saw the woman at the other end of the knife held to his throat.

Oh yes. He recognized her.

/

F.B.I., Behavioral Analysis Unit

Quantico, Virginia

If there was anything that Spencer Reid absolutely abhorred, it was down time.

The week before, they had two cases. A kidnapping in Chicago followed by a string of murders in Florida. The week before that, they spent five days in Maine searching for a man who had called in a series of bomb threats to the local elementary schools. He turned out to just be a racist eighty-year old who missed the days of integration. He didn't have any bombs, just a loud mouth and an unloaded rifle.

It had been a month since they rescued Emily from Remi Gusev. Other than a busted lip and a few cuts and bruises, she was fine. Prentiss had been through far more treacherous situations-case in point, Ian Doyle-but since getting home, she had been on edge.

They all knew why, but they chose not to bring it up until they received some sort of lead. But Molly Prentiss was a hard woman to track down.

"What are you doing?" JJ's amused voice came from behind him.

Reid turned in his desk chair and held up the model he had constructed out of paperclips and rubber bands. "It's a Tesseract." He said, delighted with his creation. "Well, a 4D Hyper prism version of one. Some models are made with and extra layer on the inside, but given this medium I could only do the two."

JJ opened her mouth to offer some sort of a response, but found that there wouldn't be one suitable enough. So she settled for chuckling and shaking her head. "Looks great Spence." She patted his shoulder and plopped down into Derek's vacated chair. She glanced casually at Prentiss who had been sitting in the same position for nearly an hour.

She was leaned back in her seat, chewing on the end of her pen and staring blankly at her computer, which had switched to power-save mode twenty minutes ago.

It was a familiar look. One that they had all seen quite frequently over the past few weeks.

"She's okay." JJ assured her, poking her leg with the toe of her boot.

Emily jumped-dropping her pen in the process-and swiveled her chair to face the other agents. Reid had even set down his beloved Tesseract to back JJ up.

Noting the look of confusion, the blonde continued. "She probably went back into hiding. Some of those people are still out there."

Prentiss gave her a tight smile and nodded. The reassurances did nothing. She knew Molly was safe. It would take an almost supernatural force to take her down. That was what bothered her. She would more than likely never see her again because nothing would stop her long enough to make that happen.

After a few minutes, JJ was summoned by Garcia and Spencer got to work on building another multi-dimensional model. It was when Emily was sure that their attention was off of her that she jiggled her mouse.

'Unconscious Man Found Outside of Mackinaw City Police Department' the article on her screen read. It had been published two days before and had been big news for the tiny village in Michigan. She clicked on one of the related links in the sidebar.

'John Doe Identified as Killer' The choppy writing of a small town reporter was excusable considering the content. The man's name had been Arthur Canelli.

If Emily's memory served her correctly, he had been the son of Paul Canelli who had been one of the founders of Red Card. Arthur had been one of Gusev's closest confidants and literal partner in crime.

He had been found handcuffed to the railing outside of the police department with one arm removed and a note pinned to his jacket. To Italy, with love.

To the citizens of Mackinaw City, this man's rap sheet simply read the same as any other Italian affiliated with the mob. They knew nothing of Red Card; otherwise there might have been more news.

A similar article from a few days before had initially been what caught her eye.

This time it was an older Russian man. The nephew of Domnin, another founder. He had been outside of a courthouse in Northern Washington State. He hadn't been bound, but there was no need. His feet had been removed.

These men had been living under aliases. American names like Doug and Cam had been their monikers for decades. But their green cards, the original ones they had been issued upon arrival to the United States, had been shoved in their wallets in front of their fake ID's.

The person who did this had resources. They had a way of finding things that only Penelope Garcia could find. They had extensive medical knowledge, made evident by the tourniquets tied to the criminals to ensure that they wouldn't bleed out. They had covert training, as no one had ever seen the delivery of the men.

Emily chewed on her thumb nail, wincing as she came to the same conclusion she had come to before.

Molly.

/

Irwindale City Police Department

California

Hamilton Grady (born Neal Perrigan), had to be one of her more greasy conquests. It was obvious that he didn't take advantage of the copious variety of American shampoo and his foul breath could be detected from the very back of the Wagoneer. After only an hour of driving her entire vehicle reeked of cheddar cheese and beer.

The red doors of the gorgeous building that held Irwindale's finest had been closed for ten minutes. Nobody had come in or out. It was obvious that this wasn't a high crime area.

She waited another five minutes before hopping out of the car and hurrying to collect her loot from the trunk.

/

Virginia

Prentiss hesitated for only a moment before lifting her hand to knock.

The bubbly blonde tech analyst spun in her chair and flashed a smile. "I see I got my morning dose of beautiful a little early!" She crooned with a wink. "To what do I owe this pleasure?"

Not wanting to cut to the chase too soon, especially after Garcia's sweet greeting, Emily returned her beam and kept her notebook at her side. "I just wanted to see what you had going on." She said, sitting on the edge of the desk that sat to the left of the myriad of screens. "It's kind of dull out there."

"Oh same old, same old." Penelope turned back to her monitor and resumed her fast-paced typing. "Just sorting through some old case files, making sure everything is where it needs to be, lest we need them in the not so near future."

Emily bit her lip and arched her brows. "You don't say."

"What do you need my love?" Garcia could sense the disease in her friend's voice.

Sighing, Prentiss dropped the notebook by her mouse pad. "Only when you get a chance-"

"I have a chance now." Penelope waved her off. "What do you need?"

"I'm searching for cases similar to these." Emily pointed to the tiny list of two as she continued to gnaw on her lip.

Garcia typed the first case number into the system and let out a rush of air when the footless man appeared on her screen. "Oh my." She cleared her throat and read the report with furrowed brows. "Who is he?"

"He's a former Red Card member." Emily replied, pointing to the second name. "So is he."

It took Penelope a moment to register what the agent was telling her. "Molly?" She swallowed, "Did Molly do this?"

"It's a possibility."

"Oh...Oh my." She repeated the phrase, popping a lime lollipop in her mouth before going back to her search. "I'll see what I can find."

"Okay, thank you." Emily patted her shoulder and stood up. "And if we can keep this-"

"Between us, yes!" Penelope waved her sucker in the air like a magic wand. "My lips are sealed my pretty!"

Prentiss thanked her again and stepped back into the hall leading to the bullpen. She hated keeping secrets, but there was no need to alert the team to her suspicions until she was absolutely sure.

/

Interstate 10 East

She would need to stop for gas soon. She grimaced, at the red arrow as it slowly crept its way towards the little 'E' on her dash.

New Mexico was still over six hours away and she had already filled up twice. If she had the time, she'd probably search for a hybrid or something else to drive in the interest of time as well as comfort. The air conditioning was beginning to kick it and the driver's side window was still refusing to roll down all the way. She was lucky it was running at all after the wreck.

Her eyes were staring longingly at a Car Dealership just off of the interstate when a voice startled her.

"How many more mommy?"

She cleared her throat and looked to the boy curled up in the passenger seat. His eyes were heavy with sleep and his messy curls stuck up on all ends.

"Not many, Flynn." She assured him, patting his knee. "Now buckle your seatbelt."